


Reeducation 1998

by nightshadow28



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (temporary sort of), Avoiding the Apocalypse, Drugs, Gen, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kitsune, Mild Language, Mild spanking scene (chapter 1), Poker, Post-Leviathan, Pre-Season/Series 08, Sam Winchester Tries, Sam's POV, Self-Blaming Sam Winchester, Self-Harm, Talking, Time Travel, Time Travelling Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshadow28/pseuds/nightshadow28
Summary: Pre-Season 8 Divergence: Sam finds his mind trapped in his fifteen year old body. With Bobby, Cas and Dean gone in his time, Sam has the option of avoiding the Apocalypse and Leviathans from ever happening.





	1. The Week it Began

* * *

The ceiling wasn't right.

It was light green when he went to sleep, definitely not bright yellow.

The mattress squeaked as Sam rolled to his side and sat up. The empty bed next to his, the small, dingy bathroom and kitchenette clued him in.

Then it came to him. He no longer lived with Amelia. Don was back.

Sam put his head in his hands. His face surprisingly smooth. He didn't remember shaving the night before. Nor checking in a motel. He must have drank more than intended.

He stood up and looked around cautiously. He had gone straight to Rufus's cabin and hadn't really gone out since. Not only that, the room felt different. Somehow more spacious or more _grounded_ \- perhaps near the coast.

The room was cluttered with books and take-out in a way only hunters managed, but clean of suspicious artifacts or creatures. The door and windows were salted even.

Sam went to investigate the bathroom, then. Nothing out of the ordinary. Paste, a toothbrush, soap a mirror, aspirins, a toilet and a shower. A flashback of Bobby's ghost assaulted him. Thinking it was worth to try. Sam leaned to to tarnish the sink's mirror when his breath failed him.

The reflection was him, alright. Just not twenty-nine year old him.

"Dean-!" called Sam, before recalling his brother had died the year before via exploding dick.

Unless...

Unless, Sam dared to hope, he was actually back in time somehow and Dean was still alive.

He ran back to the room and reached for an old nokia cellphone identical to the one he had during his teens. Sure enough the first contact read: _1DW_. Not even thinking about it he pressed call. It had been so long since he last spoke to dean he had begun to forget what his voice sounded like.

" _'S up, man?_ " answered Dean.

Sam's eyes prickled. Dean's voice wasn't quite as grave as it would become, but damn it if Sam wasn't damn grateful to hear it.

"Hey, Dean," said Sam, coughing once to cover the tremble that threatened to escape him.

" _Hey yourself, short stuff. What's up?_ " said Dean.

Sam cursed himself and tried to dig up something to say. He couldn't regret making the call, though.

"Uh, nothing, uh, 'm just wondering, uh, when, yeah, when will you guys be back?" stammered Sam, messing up his hair. God, he had forgotten how short it was.

" _Dude_ ," sighed Dean - Sam could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose -, " _like I told you yesterday, we'll be back by Monday, chill already._ "

Sam hummed his agreement.

"Okay, Dean. Be careful," was all he managed to say, sure his voice would break.

" _Right, man, whatever_ ," said Dean, " _See ya',_ " and he hung up.

Sam sat down on the bed and stared at nothing. His body was stone-still but his heart and mind were racing.

He really was in the past. He could change everything. More importantly, he could save Dean.

With that idea, he took the notebook on the bedside table. He ripped off the notes on lore and started a list.

**_Possible Cause:_ **

_Angels_

_Demons (A deal? Crowley?)_

_Djin_

_Witch_

_Wishing Fountain_

That was pretty much the only things that could have send him back, for real or in a dream, other than God maybe, but Sam seriously doubted it.

Next, he turned on the motel's crappy TV and searched for a news channel. The reporters weren't exactly helpful. They kept saying 'yesterday' and 'last sunday' and 'today', but they didn't mention the day, month or the freaking year. By the time the anchor finished the transmission Sam had learned it was Tuesday 8th thanks to the weather report. Fucking Tuesdays.

Sam updated the list:

**_Possible Cause:_ **

**_Angels_ ** _(Gabriel?)_

_Demons (A deal? Crowley?)_

_Djin_

_Witch_

_Wishing Fountain_

Sam stood up, rummaged the drawer for money and headed out in search of a corner store. Cars were kinda hideous and seemed easier to steal. Sam had the urge to take one, he had a lot of practice after months of dodging leviathans, but police would notice someone so young driving around. He huffed. Apparently he was stuck walking everywhere for the week. Or more. He could up and leave, wouldn't have to explain his father and brother all his screw ups or pretend everything was normal. He could just concentrate on making sure his future didn't happen.

Except, he couldn't do that to Dean. He would feel responsible. Worse even, Dad would make him responsible for it. And, honestly, Sam missed his brother too much to let go of him so easily.

Crossing the street, a small, black shop stood out. "Maggie's Emporium" offered antiques and psychic consulting. It was most likely a fraud, but Pamela was able to tell them Cas' name back when Dean got out of hell. It was worth a try. He'd enter on the way back.

The newspaper he bought at the mini market a block away said it was _Tuesday September 8th, 1998_. That made him fifteen. That age sucked. He rolled up the paper and entered the psychic's shop.

"Welcome to my emporium," greeted a woman behind the cash register, sipping tea.

"You're Maggie?" said Sam.

Maggie nodded. "What can I do for someone in the wrong time?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she set her mug down.

Sam's shoulders relaxed. So, she was the real deal.

"I need to find out what brought me here, if you know what I mean," he said looking her in the eyes. She didn't back away.

"I see," she sipped her tea. "I haven't done this through time and space before, so I will need some extra help. I'm going to need to order some lolite crystals. They should be here in three days."

Sam internally cursed the apparently non-existing e-commerce.

"Okay, I'll be back then." He made his way towards the door.

"And," Maggie said, halting his retreat. "I'm going to need payment."

"Right. How much?" said Sam, repressing a groan.

"A hundred," she answered simply, stirring her tea with a pleased smirk.

"Dollars?!"

She raised her eyebrow.

"Of course," bit out Sam, walking out. It better not be a fraud.

"I will see you on Friday," said the psychic.

* * *

_Wednesday, September 9th 1998_

Sam spent the rest of Tuesday looking for money in the motel room with little luck. There were $40 in total. Having still two and a half days more to worry about it, he began another list of key events and other important things.

**_To consider:_ **

_-Righteous man goes to hell. Breaks 1st seal. (Dad or Dean)  
_

_-If Lilith dies before the 1st seal, the apocalypse can't happen._

_-Get the colt_

_-Alternatively befriend Ruby to get the knife (proceed to kill her)_

_-Michael could posses Dean or Adam (or Dad?)_

_-Adam_

_-Links to Lilith: Ruby, Azazel, Crowley?_

This day however, Sam needed to put together a hundred dollars. He wouldn't be let in a bar. No one would authorize a credit card to someone that looked so young, either. He could always pawn something at a shady pawn shop.

Sam ate re-heated Chinese for breakfast and later lunch. Taking a pocket knife, clips and a wire that used to be a cloth hanger hidden in his jacket, he took off into the night.

Seven blocks away from the motel he found a lonely enough street near an alley. There were few cars but all of them looked to have something worth some bucks. Sam shook his head; 90's people trusted too much on their car locks. He took out the wire next to a '94 Nissan. Sliding the wire between the window and metal he calculated he could get at least $35 for the stereo, if he calculated well the inflation. Hopefully he'd find something else in the glove box. He finished dislodging the stereo with the help of his knife when he heard a low whistle.

Sam's instincts told him to run.

He turned slowly, instead, knife at ready.

"Nice stereo, kid," the teenage voice of the stranger said from the alley.

"Thanks," said Sam, not lowering his knife.

"Haven't seen you around before," said the stranger, not finding Sam threatening whatsoever.

"I'm new in town," Sam lower his tone, standing as tall as he could, "that gonna be a problem?"

The guy laughed.

"Nah, we're more into deals around here."

Sam tensed at the word 'deals'. He looked around, making sure no one else was there.

"Yeah? How come?" he said, preparing his mouth to begin to exorcise.

"I sell the sweet stuff 'round here, if you're interested," said the guy, shaking his long coat.

Sam shook his head. "Need quick cash, actually."

"Oh, in that case there's a place where you could triple your money if you know how to bet," offered the stranger.

Sam pondered on it. Worst case scenario the kid was a demon taking him to a desolated place to kill him. But, even smaller, he was still well trained in self-defense and his adult mind gave him some advantage. Besides, he could always try the stereo route the next night.

"Where's this place?" he asked, keeping an even face.

"Tell you something, you give me that stereo, I take you there."

Sam pressed his lips together and made a show of putting his knife in his pocket.

"Okay."

* * *

The place turned out to be the basement of an abandoned building.

Not as bad as Sam had imagined.

Three poker tables half-full were barely visible among the smoke of tobacco and, if Sam remembered right, weed. At the back of the room, people at the bar drank and snorted. Coke, probably. Shatter was everywhere, but it was discrete in volume. No one seemed to be doing anything legal.

Eying the suited men flanking certain people, Sam was sure every single person in that basement was armed and not afraid to use their weapons. By now he really should know better than to go anywhere without at least a gun with rock salt. Dean would rip him a new one if he ever found out.

He took a deep breath. No use wallowing. He just needed to be extra careful not to provoke anyone.

Having given the stereo to the guy that brought him there, Sam only had $40. Hoping he wasn't screwing up, he sat down at the closest table and put all his money on the table. The first bets were of five dollars. Sam noticed some had drugs instead of money or chips.

 _"It's about strategy and your poker face, Sammy_ , _"_ he heard Dean's voice in his mind from years before, attempting to teach him to play. A week later he had been declared hopeless.

Yet, he reminded himself, he managed to win against an immortal poker master. This should be easier.

He loses the first two rounds on purpose, getting a feeling of his opponents and letting them get cocky. The man to his left eyed him suspiciously when he won the next round with a flush.

The man snapped his fingers in the air and pointed at Sam. Sam's pulse rushed as his hand snaked in his pocket, feeling for his knife.

Only the bartender responded to the snapping, approaching Sam with a shot, a joint and a lighter. Understanding the power-play for what it was, Sam took the joint and lighter. At that age he hadn't build up alcohol tolerance yet, so marijuana was his best choice. He had tried it at college and it hadn't diminished his ability to pass exams, so a game of poker should be a piece of cake.

Sam lit up the joint, looking the man to his left in the eye the whole time. The man merely smirked.

Apparently the rule was that the winner had to take a drag of some drug or a shot of vodka. At the other's insistence, however, he drank about five shots of vodka throughout the game.

Three hours later Sam walked back to the motel with $300 and a pocketful of different drugs. He felt lighter than ever. That night he wasn't scared of nightmares. He was too high in the clouds for them to reach him.

* * *

_Thursday, September 10th 1998_

After-high and hangover didn't make a fun combination, Sam realized, hugging the toilet. He was dizzy, hungry, nauseous and in pain at the same time. Crawling to his duffel bag, he took out a joint. Dean sometimes said the best way to cure a hangover was with more beer. It was worth trying the theory with marijuana. After all, it was supposed to be medicinal. 

He managed to summon the energy to order take out around mid afternoon.

* * *

_Friday, September 11th 1998_

"Do you have the money?"

Sam nodded. "Do you have my answers?"

"We'll find out," said Maggie.

Much like Pamela, Maggie takes him to a table with candles in the back room, holding his hands across it.

"Did you travel whole or is it just your mind that did?" she asked before starting.

"Just my mind or memories, maybe."

She nodded and leaned to touch his forehead. Sam noticed some bluish crystals hanging by her neck.

"I invoke you, appear before me. I invoke you, appear before me. I invoke you-... Cassiel? No, Castler-"

"Castiel," gasped Sam.

Maggie looked at him with widened eyes. She nodded.

"Appear before me, Castiel. Appear-"

"Stop!" called Sam, letting go of her hands.

"That won't be necessary," he assured her. They didn't need another incident with burned out eyes.

"If you're sure," she said, surprised.

* * *

"Castiel, if you're listening, I really need your help," prayed Sam, back in the motel. "Are we supposed to change things? I... Should I tell Dean? I'm really not sure what I'm meant to do back here. Please help me... please."

Hours with no answer later, Sam updated his list:

**_Possible Cause:_ **

**_Angels_ ** _(Gabriel?)_

~~_Demons (A deal? Crowley?)_ ~~

~~_Djin_ ~~

~~_Witch_ ~~

~~_Wishing Fountain_ ~~

"Gabriel of this time," began Sam, "or Loki, whatever you prefer, I don't know if you can listen to me, being hidden and everything, but I need some help. It concerns you and your brothers. We can stop them. We did stop them in the future. You helped us. Please come."

* * *

_Saturday, September 12th 1998_

Sam tried praying every few hours to both angels. Even to God once.

No one showed up.

Giving up, he tried to form a plan to kill Lilith and avoid the end of the world without sacrificing his brother. But there were so many variables he didn't remember well enough. He couldn't risk it or wing it.

The stress and worry made it hard to breath. If not that, something would trigger nightmarish memories so much that Sam half-expected to turn around and see Lucifer, or Hallucination Lucifer. It's the stress, he told himself, what made him feel like someone watched him.

In the end, Sam took out another joint from his duffel. And then another. And maybe one or two more, not that he was lucid enough to keep count.

* * *

_Sunday, September 13th 1998_

"Ah!" Sam woke up to a faceful of cold water. "What the-! Dad?"

John Winchester had a gun aimed firmly at him, Dean had a knife at ready beside him. Sam gulped.

"Dean?"

"Hold out your arm," ordered John in a deadly tone.

Sam did. Dean nipped his arm. When red blood came out they relaxed their postures a little, still holding their weapons.

"What are you? Where's Sam?" said John.

"I'm Sam-"

"Our Sam doesn't end calls that complying. Our Sam would never miss school." -Sam gulped, he had completely forgotten about that. The school probably called them.- "Our Sam wouldn't leave the door unlocked. I'm only gonna ask one more time," threatened John, taking aim.

"Mom was killed in my nursery in our house in Lawrence in 1983, my first hunt was a werewolf that turned out to be two, when we were kids Dean and I jumped off a shed and I broke my arm so he took me to the hospital on his handlebars."

John and Dean lower their weapons. Sam lets himself breath.

"So, Sam," said John, putting his gun in his pants, "care to explain this?"

John pointed at what Dean was holding. The rest of his money, his notebook and a ziplock with the drugs he won. He was dead.

"Over a hundred dollars, some interesting lists and enough merchandise to make a drug dealer jealous, you see how this doesn't look good?" said John.

Sam didn't know how to begin to explain. There was no getting out of confessing his time travel now if he wanted to live long enough to fix the future. Even if he survived his father's anger, they were now on high alert on his ass. He wouldn't be able to pull off acting like his fifteen year old self and they wouldn't leave him alone long enough for him to make a break for it.

Still, for the life of him Sam didn't know how to begin to explain himself.

John ran out of patience. He took Sam's arm and turned him on his stomach on the bed.

Unprepared, Sam got the wind knock out of him. Dad wasn't playing around. When Sam could take a normal breath again, he heard it. His dad's buckle tilting in the air.

"Dad, wait!" said Sam, trying to get up frantically.

"No, son, you had this coming the moment you got involved with that," growled John, probably pointing at the 'evidence'. Without another word, John swung the belt.

WACK! WACK!

"Ow! Wait! I'm not-! Ow! I'M NOT YOUR SAM!" yelled Sam into the squeaking mattress, clawing at the sheets.

John turned him around and crossed his arms.

"Explain."

A part of Sam was bitter at the fact that his father was so willing to believe he was a supernatural creature. A darker part made him shiver with the suspicion that he was already trying to either save him or kill him.

"I'm from, well, my mind is from 2012. Something brought me back in time, but I'm not sure what" -he did, but they didn't need to know that- "or why, but-"

"So in the future you're a drug dealer or something?" growled Dean, "I thought we raised you better than that!"

Sam was momentarily speechless. Dean was alive. In front of him. Any plan Sam had considered for leaving them flew right out of the window.

He swallowed back his emotions and shook his head.

"No, I just needed quick money to try and find out what took me here," said Sam, "the psychic I tried was a bust, by the way. But I _won_ it all playing poker."

John and Dean looked at each other.

"Let's say that we believe you-" started John.

"and that you're not high," interrupted Dean.

John shot him a glare. "Let's say we believe you, can you prove it?"

Sam thought about it, hoping time hadn't messed up his memories.

"The hunt you just came back from was from a ghost who's wife had murdered for his life insurance. It was a salt and burn that went sideways and, well, Dean never really told me how it happened, but a dog bit him during it."

John looked worried. Dean's eyebrows shot up to his forehead. Sam could tell they didn't believe him, not completely. He'd have to give them more solid proof.

"And..." Sam looked down, "A week or two from now we'll, or would have, gone to Lincoln, Nebraska, you leave to follow a trail and I find two...," Sam gulped some guilt down, he owed this much to his Dean, "two kitsunes. A mother and a daughter."

"We'll head out there tomorrow morning," finally said John, "until we make sure you're telling the truth about the future thing, this" he takes the notebook from Dean, "is staying with me."

Sam nods, still looking down. It would be a good time for Cas or Gabriel to show up.

"Dean, go get us some lunch" ordered John, throwing him the impala's keys. Dean looked uncertain, but a sharp look from his father had him hurrying out the door.

"Now," announced John, "I don't care if you come from the future or not, illegal bets are serious business, never mind with people involved in drugs and most probably guns! Especially being a teenager."

"I'm twenty-nine!" argued Sam.

"I don't care if your mind is twenty nine or fifty-nine! Right now you are a teenager and, if you're as old as you say you are, you should have known better than to go to such places alone, unarmed and for no good reason!" yelled John.

"I told you I needed-"

"You could have waited for us!" John talked over him, not willing to back down, "and don't think I didn't notice the burnt joints in the trash!"

Sam looked down at that. He probably shouldn't have smoked those. He was a recovering addict (sort of) after all.

"Alright, son," said John in his no-nonsense tone "messing in that kind of place by yourself and smoking that trash? You know what's coming." He held tighter his belt around his hand. "Drop 'em and bend over the bed."

Anytime now, Cas.


	2. Gather the Hunters Up

_Day #9_

Sam stayed in Dad's truck. Dad's locked truck. Apparently he wasn't trusted not to run away riding with Dean. Not that he couldn't open the lock if he wanted. He just wasn't going to give the man any more reasons not to trust him. Not to be ungrateful, he was happy to see his father alive, but their personalities just clashed. For the first time in his life Sam was honestly trying not to anger or fight with his father, and damn if it wasn't exhausting. Specially while he stubbornly kept searching holes in his story.

He could hear Amy's screams and things thrown around her house. It was a good thing Amy's house was deep in the forest. Sam bit his lip and gripped his knees.

It shouldn't feel so much like betrayal as it did. In this timeline they hadn't met, hadn't become friends. Not to mention he basically saved a few lives in the future by confessing her whereabouts. That and her son from ever existing.

Sam dropped his head on the passenger's window. Dean wasn't the only one scared of the things he's willing to do for his brother. Or would be. Or maybe Sam messed that up too by traveling to '98. His nineteen year old brother was just like he remembered, except he kept shooting him wary looks whenever he thought Sam wasn't looking. Sam could tell he was scared to never get his real little brother back.

Up and leaving by himself sounded better by the hour. Doing nothing but wait always gave him the urge to run. But now with Dad and Dean onto him there was no way they'd give him enough leeway to even try.

The front door was kicked open.

Sam sat up to meet Dean's eyes. He strode to the truck, rifle swung over his shoulder. He probably was whistling some AC/DC song, too. Everything he did the past few days was so purely Dean, Sam wanted to tackle him with a hug, reassure himself he was alive. But that would cause questions Sam wasn't ready to answer.

"Turns out you were right, kiddo," said Dean, opening Sam's door with Dad's keys.

Sam snorted. It was one thing having thirty-three year old Dean call him a kid on occasion. It was utterly ridiculous having his not-old-enough-to-drink-legally brother call him 'kiddo'.

"Told ya'," said Sam as he jumped out of the truck. He looked up to offer his brother a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He couldn't wait to get his growth-spurt.

"So," said Dean awkwardly.

"So," said Sam, shrugging his shoulders.

A jaw tic betrayed Dean's fake nonchalance. If Sam still read his brother half as well as he thought, he could expect a lame attempt of a joke next.

Dean looked around, pointing his rifle to the ground.

"Have they cracked flying cars, yet?" he smirked, his tone dripped with humor. But Sam had grown up hearing all about how they would get the Impala propulsors as soon as they were invented long enough to know he was a little hopeful.

Younger Sam would have rolled his eyes or groaned his annoyance. Older Sam was glad there was any sparkle of life left in Dean's eyes.

He smiled down to his feet, rolling back his shoulders.

"Nah," - his arms found their way behind his head - "only geeks care for those."

Dean made to swing the rifle at Sam. "Why, you little-"

SLAM!

They flinched as their father slammed the house's door shut and stomped over to them.

"Let's go," he grunted pushing past them to the driver's side.

Sam took a long breath and squared his shoulders.

"About that," he started, hoping it didn't come across as defiant. Dad stopped opening the door and gave him a stern look, preparing for an argument. Surely they didn't use fight _that_ much. "I've been thinking, sir." - Sam figured throwing a 'sir' here and there would show he wasn't looking for a fight - "To avoid the future I come from we're going to need help."

Dean's worried stare drilled a hole in the back of his head. John relaxed his posture but kept the skeptical expression on.

"I mean," rushed Sam, "like Bobby, for sure, and maybe Pastor Jim and Caleb. Rufus, too, maybe. Ellen and Ash, if he's around yet... sir."

Without giving away anything in his expression, John said, "I ain't in speaking terms with Singer."

Sam saw right through him. He couldn't decide if it was part of Sam's evil plan or if it wasn't yellow eyes using Sam.

"Doesn't mean he won't help," he countered, standing as tall as he could.

John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sam," he began.

"No, I mean it, we can trust him," insisted Sam. "He always helped us when we need him! He _died_ helping us!" -Sam didn't know when he rose his voice, but he couldn't stop- "Believe me, we can trust him! We can trust all of them!"

John set in his stubborn face. Sam was losing him.

"I'll tell you everything!" he blurted out in desperation. He could see the slight shift in his Dad's stand. "I'll explain everything I'm trying to fix if we get all of them over to Bobby's, I swear."

The eerie silence that followed seemed to last forever.

"Fine!" said John, yanking the driver's door open. "But you get to call him!"

Sam and Dean hurried to the Impala before Dad could order Sam in the truck. As soon as they were settled, Dean smacked him on the back of the head.

"Oi!" yelped Sam, rubbing the spot. "What was that for?"

Dean started the car, following their dad's truck into the highway.

"Being a dumb-ass," he said. "Dude, seriously, I thought you'd grow out of getting into it with dad!"

Sam looked down.

"I didn't mean to," he said honestly.

"Whatever, man. You better get calling Bobby."

Beyond the gruff, Sam was sure Dean was pleased about seeing Bobby again.

* * *

Sam stifled a yawn. He wished for his smartphone for the hundredth time. He had forgotten how dull the road could be without those things.

"So," said Dean in the middle of 'Stairway to heaven'.

"Yeah?" said Sam. He rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes, eyeing his brother carefully.

Dean took a moment to reorganize his thoughts.

"So, Bobby dies, eh?" he said.

Sam's heart gave a painful twitch. His head turned to the window before he registered the movement.

"Yeah."

"Who else?" Dean's hard gaze was on the road, but his hands tightened on the wheel.

"Everyone."

Dean nodded. He didn't speak for the rest of the trip.

* * *

_Day #10_

Dean hadn't killed the motor when Sam rushed out of the car, hoping to avoid a confrontation his father was sure to start.

"Bobby!" he called as he knocked the worn wooden front door.

The door opened barely a crack to thrust a flask to Sam, who quickly took a swing and threw it to his approaching brother. Next he was offered a silver knife. No sooner did his blood flooded red, he shoved the door aside and wrapped his arms around Bobby. The man was taken aback, but patted his back comfortingly nonetheless. Sam could almost hear the concerned look he sent to his father and brother.

"It's good to see you," said Sam, letting go. _Alive and tangible_ , he didn't' say.

Dean sent him a sad look.

"We supposed to get all mushy and stuff?" called Caleb from the den's doorway.

"Wouldn't dream of it," smiled Sam.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur by the armchair in the den. A second later it was gone. A screech of wood made him turn towards the stairs. Nothing there, either.

"Something wrong, Sam?" said Bobby, searching anything unusual in the staircase. Apparently nobody else heard the screech.

"No, I just, no," shook his head Sam, forcing his gaze away.

"Then what you idjits waiting for? A guided tour?" grumbled Bobby, "get setting the table, dinner's about ready."

* * *

Sam had forgotten how good Bobby's chili was. Nevertheless, he only downed four spoonfuls. His stomach suggested any more wouldn't be a good idea. It churned at the thought of coming clean with everyone that one way or another had died because of him and his 'smart' decisions. It didn't help an invisible gaze prickled at the back of his head for the past hour. Not that he could do anything about it without earning a bullet of rock salt. He opted to hope it was Castiel awaiting a good time to show himself.

Giving up, Sam put his spoon down. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the chatter around him. Dad and Pastor Jim kept a hushed conversation, but the loud banter between Caleb and Dean made up for it, along with Bobby declaring them equally stupid. The last time he enjoyed a moment like that, Sam hadn't needed to shave yet.

"You feeling ok?" said Dean, besides him. He frowned, clenching his hand around his own spoon, probably resisting the urge to press it against Sam's forehead.

"Yeah," tried to smile Sam.

Dean didn't seem convinced.

"Why don't you try to eat some more?" he suggested, digging into his bowl.

John's phone rang loudly. The kitchen went quiet.

"Hello?" grunted John. He aha-ed and hummed a couple times. "Alright, alright," he said, putting the phone on speaker.

"You're on speaker," said John.

"Sam Winchester!" Sam flinched at the familiar female voice. "Why didn't you call me instead of going to some run-of-the-mill psychic, boy? I keep my number on the phone book for a reason!"

"Sorry, Missouri," said Sam, asking himself the same thing. "It didn't even occur to me."

"I'll say," humphed Missouri, "I could've saved you a hundred dollars, boy."

Dean spitted out his drink.

"Wait a minute, you know each other?" asked John.

"We will. In about seven years if my reading's right. Keep up, John" said Missouri.

Sam felt Bobby, Pastor Jim and Caleb's questioning eyes on him. He refused to meet them. He had experienced Bobby's disappointment before (or rather, after), he would never forgive himself if he blew it and got the same reaction from Pastor Jim and Caleb. He didn't dare imagine Ellen's. He had to play his cards right, watch what he revealed.

"I thought you could only sense things when they were near you," said Sam, focusing on the Nokia phone. "How did you know about me?"

"Boy, I'd be surprise if one psychic in this side of the planet didn't sense you," said Missouri. "It took me a while to recognize your energy, though."

"Energy as in soul?" said Pastor Jim.

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the old phone. The state of his soul was far too complex for Missouri to be able to tell from such distance. It was not something he wanted out in the open, but it might be the proof Dad needed to trust him. At least, as much as John Winchester was able to trust another human being.

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Missouri. "But I'll tell you this, if it is it's in bits and pieces. I've never sensed anyone anywhere near as broken as you. Obliterated even."

Sam looked down at that. Knowing it in theory and having someone spell it out for everyone to hear was very different. He could only imagine the other's pity at best, or accusation at worst.

"What do you mean?" said Dean in the most serious tone he could manage at that age.

"It's like pebbles pilled up. No cement or even glue to hold it together," said Missouri solemnly. "How are you even alive?"

Not even Death had known that. After defeating Dick he didn't even feel like he was -except for certain moments with Amelia.

No one spoke. They must have desperately wanted answers Sam could not provide. Not yet. If he revealed the main events before the context he would be put down for sure. It was a little manipulative, but Sam needed to be alive to make amends. 

Sam offered an ironic grin. "I've been told I can be pretty stubborn."

He got a round of disapproving glares for his efforts. Missouri tsked from the speaker.

"Be careful, Sam," she said, "I sense trouble coming your way. Call if you need anything, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," nodded Sam. "Thanks." He shut his eyelids as soon as the line went dead. He could practically hear his father's blood pressure rise, evaporating the last drops of patience in its wake.

That's when Rufu's car arrived.

Bobby's chair screeched against the floor. "Must be Rufus with Ellen."

"John, can you man the silver knife?" he said, charging his gun.

Both men stalked to the porch. Nothing was going the way Sam planned. An elephant in the room was much bigger and heavier than he remember -so long had he already gone without people to disappoint. Perhaps a confession was not the best plan. He could tell them just enough for them to trust him and do what he should have done from the beginning, leave in the middle of the night. He would track down ironic or grossly ridiculous deaths in the papers and get Gabriel to help. Simple.

"Sammy," said Dean, hesitant. Sam turned his head to look at him. "We're gonna talk about this later, you hear?"

"Don't worry, Dean," reassured Sam, "it's part of what I have to tell everyone."

"Right."

* * *

Everyone settled in the den. Everyone minus thirteen year old Jo, who was sent to bed upon arrival.

All seats were taken. Only Sam remained standing. He paced for a few seconds. How much should he say? Should he lie about some parts?

Someone's throat cleared. Sam halted his nervous pacing to look around the room. Everyone stared at him expectantly. Bobby lifted an eyebrow. Dean nodded his encouragement.

"Right," exhaled Sam. He stood up straight. "So, some of you might've already guessed I'm not exactly from around here." He took another breath. In and out.

"Back to the future?" said Caleb, somewhat wary.

"More like back to the past," said Sam, biting his bottom lip.

Caleb's face told him if he hadn't heard Missouri's call himself he would write off the whole business as a prank.

"Wh, What year...?" asked Pastor Jim, motioning with his hand.

"Two-thousand twelve."

Rufus snorted.

"No offense, kid, but are we supposed to believe you because you pinky promised?" laughed gruffly Rufus. If he noticed Dean glare, he didn't mention it.

"No, of course no," conceded Sam. "Let's see..." -he pointed at Rufus- "You're Jewish, you have a cabin in Montana and a taste for Johnny Walker Blue Label, specifically-"

"That doesn't prove-" interrupted Rufus.

Sam continued louder, "You started Bobby on hunting, an exorcism. The two of you hunted together for a long time until Bobby made a mistake you couldn't forgive. I never got the details, but-"

"You told them-?!" demanded Rufus, turning to Bobby.

"I ain't told jack shit to anyone!" defended Bobby.

"It's true, Rufus," said Sam. An explanation seemed more and more impossible to give, and he hadn't even started on the important stuff. He suddenly found his hands inside his jacket pockets. "Well, he hasn't, yet. But I'm talking twelve or thirteen years from now... the day you died." That shut him up. Sam then pointed at Ellen. "Your husband died in a hunt gone wrong" -Dad turned away at that- "Jo's wanted to be a hunter for sometime now, but you don't agree to the idea."

At Ellen's slight, haunted nod Sam stopped talking. Then, he turned to Bobby, "you've probably already started planning to build a panic room in the basement, and... uh... Karen, I know about Karen and..."

Bobby raised his eyebrow, expectantly. "And what else, boy?" 

Sam dug his hands in his pockets. "Don't make me do this, man."

Bobby challenged him with a look.

Sam raised his hands in surrender.

"Alright," he said, "don't say I didn't warn you." He looked Bobby directly in the eye- "You have a guilty pleasure for reality shows and the occasional pedi-"

"Alright, alright! I believe you!" said Bobby frantically. He adjusted his cap, huffing all the while.

Sam turned to Caleb.

Caleb jumped from the couch making 'stop' signals.

"Whoa, whoa, kid, I believe you," he said, "there are some secrets I'd like to keep secret."

Sam looked at Pastor Jim.

"No need, Sam," he said calmly, "I trust Missouri's judgement."

Sam nodded and leaned against the desk.

"Okay," he said, "so..." -he paused, searching his head for the right place to begin. After a moment he muttered, "this is going to be harder to explain than I thought."

"So," he re-started, "how much do you know about angels?"

Everyone looked at him incredulously.

"Sam, angels don't exist," said Dean, exasperated.

"They do and they're dicks," replied Sam. "Well, most of them, anyway."

Dean shot him a look.

"Humor me," asked Sam.

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but John's hand on his shoulder shut him up.

"Right," said Sam, "so, angels like demons need vessels to walk the earth. The only difference is angels need the vessel's consent and there's only one true vessel that can withstand each angel." -he pointed at Dean- "Michael." -he pointed at himself- "Lucifer."

* * *

"Let me see if I got this right," growled John, passing the back of his hand across his forehead. He gestured towards Sam. "You not only jump-started the apocalypse, but worked with a _demon,_ " - _one of the things that killed your mother_ went unsaid- "got yourself addicted to demon blood and said 'yes' to the devil himself, is that it?"

While Sam glossed over some parts of the story, he was not about to hide his own mistakes. He deserved whatever accusation they dished out.

Not able to meet anyone's gaze, he said, "yes."

"Now, you just wait a minute," argued Bobby, standing up, "he also stopped it, in case you weren't listening."

John stood up in an instant.

"Don't get in the middle of it, Singer," he yelled. "Sam, I thought I could save you, but _this_ , this shows just how far gone you already are!"

He shook his head and walked to the backdoor. Sam felt his heart being teared apart from his chest. Such pain he hadn't felt since the night he left for college, only deeper. This was more personal, more final. There was only one thing he could offer his father before he got out of the sinking ship that was Sam's life.

"Dad," he called. "Adam."

John stopped mid-step.

"The ghoul you killed back then had two children. You have about ten years before they get to him and his mom."

John nodded, not even offering a glance back.

"You might want to tell him about the supernatural," added Sam, "he's the other vessel Michael used."

Time passed in slow motion after the front door was slammed closed. He was vaguely aware of his chest constant rising and falling. A second -or maybe an hour- later he looked down his right arm to find his brother's hand rubbing it comfortingly while the rest of his brother had him in a half hug. He was saying something in a low tone, but Sam couldn't make out the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, researching speaker phones I found they were first introduced in 2005, but as I had already written that one scene we're gonna pretend they already existed ;)
> 
> Please comment any advice or critic you have. I'm trying to write an original novel and would really appreciate to know what you think of my writing.


	3. Look Who's Back

_Day #11_

Bobby's living room was filled with Dean's soft, barely-there snores. While familiar by then, Sam wasn't done being grateful to hear them again. Mundane everyday things reminded him of reasons to keep trying, and at the same time, made harder to work out the best course of action. Leaving was safer. Staying was just too tempting.

Sam opted to get up for the moment. Planning usually was easier after coffee.

He stretched and jumped out of the couch. He didn't know a word that could describe how pleasant it was to not have his bones cracking upon waking. Whistling quietly, he hunched to pass the doorway to the kitchen on reflex. Sam smiled to himself. His old height wasn't exactly fun, but it did come with perks.

A trick of the light it look like someone was by the window for a moment. He shook his head and leaned against the counter. The coffee maker buzzed in the background. They were safe. Everything was well.

Bobby's booted steps climbed down the stairs. That was Sam's cue to get some mugs, just in case the man insisted on an explanation. He stood on his toes to reach the mugs. 

Bobby chuckled from the doorway.

"Need a hand?" he said.

Sam took a third mug in his hands and threw him a pointed look.

"No, I got it," he said, unamused.

Bobby laughed all the way to the fridge.

Sam poured coffee for two, handing Bobby the emptier one.

"What's cooking?" asked Sam after a sip of coffee.

"Eggs and bacon. Maybe toast," said Bobby from the stove. He had some bacon strips ready to jump into the pan and scrambled some eggs next to them.

Sam set his mug on the table. He opened the cupboard to the right of the sink and took out the bread. He put two slices in the toaster when someone entered the kitchen. He turned to ask Dean what he wanted in his toast, but it was Pastor Jim who greeted him.

Pastor Jim.

Who was there the night before.

When Sam told everyone about the apocalypse.

And his father walked out on him. Practically disowning him.

Because Sam turned out to be everything he feared he would become.

"Good morning," said Pastor Jim cautiously. "How are you, Sam?"

Sam forced his mind to focus.

"'m fine."

No one was convinced.

Sam went to get his coffee, the only shield he had against awkwardness. However, an arm wrapped itself around his neck, bending him down. His hands flew up to fight off the not-quite choke-hold, when coarse knuckles roughly rubbed the top of his head.

"Knock it off," snarled Sam. He elbowed Dean's torso with little to no leverage.

Dean rubbed harder.

"What? Never figured out how to get yourself free?" he said smugly, finally letting up.

Sam immediately backed away, finger-combing his hair.

"Never needed to." Not without seriously hurting him.

"How come?" said Dean, passing some plates to Bobby.

Sam smirked. Calmly he took his mug.

"It's hard to give someone a noogie when you can't reach their neck."

Dean sputtered.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

Sam raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee.

"No! No way, dude!" raged Dean, "No way in hell you end up taller than me!"

Sam shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee.

Pastor Jim laughed at Dean's aghast expression.

"How tall, Sam?" called Bobby from the stove. The corners of his mouth quirked up.

"Six feet four."

"You're kidding, right? No way you're that much of a giant," said Dean, wide-eyed.

Sam gave him a self-satisfied smile.

* * *

Sam swallowed the last of his eggs with little enthusiasm. Food still tasted like ash after his display the night before. Which was crazy. He was a full grown adult, he didn't need his father's approval. It wasn't like he ever really got it the first time around. If anything, he had simply precipitated the inevitable. Knowing that didn't make the food taste any better, though.

Dean, Bobby, Caleb, Ellen, Pastor Jim and Rufus carried on as if it was the most common morning ever; there was more food shoveled down than words spoken, all in all. Yet, Dean's eyes couldn't hide the apprehension. Having Dad walk out on them must have been a huge blow to a young Dean. And early-twenties-Dean did what he had done every day of his life: show his little brother everything was okay when it obviously was not.

Each reassuring smile stabbed Sam's heart.

His shield against socializing was empty by then. Needing a break from worried looks, he got up to refill his mug. The bitter aroma was a blessing, such that he didn't notice Jo entered the kitchen.

"Good m-"

Panic gripped Sam's throat as blood pumped furiously through his veins and his fingers lost their grip on his mug.

SMASH.

That was not Jo.

"Long time no see, Sam," greeted Lucifer.

Sam shook his head frenetically.

"No," he muttered. On reflex he pressed on his left hand. His scar-less left hand.

"Aww, someone doesn't want to play?" mocked Lucifer, walking pass Sam with his arms wide. He took Sam's fork and held it in front of Dean's eyes. "Maybe Dean would like to have some fun. What's that, Dean? You can't wait to _see_ what I got planned?"

Scratching his hand wasn't working.

"Sam," called Dean, "everything okay?"

Lucifer gave him a thumbs-up and pulled back his arm to swing.

"NO!" yelled Sam. He dived over the counter to reach the knife on the cutting board. He needed Lucifer gone before he began to question reality, before he wasn't allowed to sleep anymore.

He needed his scar.

Without hesitation, Sam slashed his left palm and pressed on the bleeding wound.

"Sam!" was everyone's horrified yell.

Dean was by his side in a flash. He wrapped Sam's wrists in one hand and the kitchen knife in the other. No sooner Sam's fingers kissed goodbye the handle it was thrown in the sink.

Dean shook Sam still holding his wrists.

"What the hell, Sam?!" he demanded in hysterics. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

But Sam only had eyes to watch Lucifer disappear over Dean's shoulder.

It wasn't real.

His hallucinations were back, but at the moment it was enough knowing it was not real. 

* * *

Dean did not say anything else stitching him up. He took the first aid kit from a solemn Ellen with a nod and set to work. They were left alone in the den after that under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen. Sam thought he caught a glimpse of Jo coming down the stairs, but he was not sure.

Sam hung his head. He had not meant to cut deep enough to need stitches, only enough to feel it if he pressed on it.

Dean finished binding a brand new bandage and let his head fall into his hands.

"Dean," sighed Sam.

He did not move.

That was the worst possible reaction. Sam could deal with anger -argue and defend your point. He could deal with disappointment, he had the practice with that. But to leave Dean in uneven footing in unknown land. That just made Sam feel like the lowest of life forms.

Suddenly, Sam felt utterly ridiculous. He was an almost thirty-year-old freaking hunter, and here he was expecting a nineteen-year-old boy to know what to do and take everything in stride. It was a long time coming that Sam maned up and take the weight off his brother's shoulders.

"Dean," he said, "I know all of this is complicated and damn scary, but I swear I have it under control."

The only response was Dean's fingertips gripping his own hair.

"And knowing what I know, I can take care of it. All of it. Maybe you should consider going with Dad and-"

Dean chuckled darkly.

"And what?" he snapped, sitting up straight, at ready for confrontation. "Leave you alone so you can keep everything under control by slicing up yourself and randomly freaking out?!"

Something in Sam's chest stung. He opened his mouth to argue, but Dean beat him to it.

"Seriously, Sam! That's how you solve your problems in the future? By hurting yourself and making the bad guys' job easier for them? Jesus!"

Dean began pacing in front of the couch. He was pissed, which shouldn't feel like an improvement.

"When the situation calls for it, yeah," said Sam in an even voice.

Dean stood still.

"There is no situation ever that justifies that," he growled, pointing a to Sam's face. "you hear? No situation. Zero. Nein."

Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Like it or no, life's a little more complicated than that."

He could almost see smoke coming out of Dean's ears.

"Fine," snapped Dean, taking a seat on the coffee table with arms crossed. "Explain to me what's oh, so complicated you have to slice your hand open."

Sam wanted to tell him, wanted big brother to make it all better somehow or to say it would be alright. That was what he was good at, hide from ugly reality behind Dean's reassurances. 

"I'll tell you, all of you, it's part of the story," said Sam. He needed away before he pilled up more reasons to stress on his brother's back.

"There's more?!"

Sam shut his eyes. None of it was going well.

"Yes," he sighed, "and I'll explain when-"

"You'll explain now."

"Dean," appealed Sam.

"No," snarled Dean, "my little brother is playing tic-tac-toe on his skin. I don't care about apocalypse part two right now, but you're going to tell me what your little episode back there was about."

Sam rummaged his brain for something that could delay the answer.

"Might as well, son," said Bobby, coming from the kitchen, the rest of the adults behind him. The man gulped a few times and sat next to him.

Sam was reminded Dean wasn't the only one taking more than he could handle from him. The first time around the bigger cause costed him his legs, his friends, his house and at last, his life. The man had been a second father -arguably a first- who never failed either of them no matter what.

And now Sam had gone and upset him, too. He was on a roll.

"Fine," said Sam once everyone was settled. "I think I've mentioned how time's different in Hell. Well," -Sam took a deep breath- "let's just say I was in the cage for a long time."

Sam shook his head at Dean before he could ask. After a century time began to blur.

"I was there long enough to not come out exactly right."

"With Lucifer and Michael?" asked Pastor Jim. Bobby flinched. Dean clenched his fists. They clearly hadn't considered the implications of jumping in the cage beyond technically dying.

"Yeah," nodded Sam. "Well, Michael pretty much left us alone. Anyway, when I, my soul got out, Death built a wall in my mind to keep the memories out of reach."

"And your time adventure cracked this wall?" said Caleb. A humor-free tone definitely was not something that belong in him.

"No," said Sam. "It broke down over a year ago." -he could have sworn he saw sympathy in Rufu's face for a second there- "After that I started getting this hallucinations a-about Lucifer and the cage, and sometimes they're too much, okay?"

"But you haven't had any since coming here," said Ellen, running her hands around her knees, "that's good, right?"

"I'm not supposed to have them at all anymore."

Silence fell for a moment.

"Cas managed to make all the crazy go away," continued Sam. "I hadn't had a problem since. Until today, that's it."

"What's with the whole knife show, then?" said Dean. He pushed out his lower jaw, a tick probably older than Sam.

"I found out that pain made them go away temporarily."

"You're not doing that anymore," ordered Dean.

"We'll find another way," confirmed Bobby.

"I know you mean well," laughed Sam humorlessly, "but you're not the ones who have to see him every damn time."

"No, but what happens when one little cut is not enough, eh?" argued Dean. "Are you gonna go deeper? Or you gonna resort to something more dangerous?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Last time I almost died because they got so bad I couldn't sleep for weeks!"

"I think it's best if all of us take a break," proposed Pastor Jim.

"No, might as well finish the story now," said Sam.

* * *

"Wow," said Caleb, "I always knew corporations were full of dicks, but this is another level."

Sam gave him a lopsided grin.

"So, everything's fully over for you? In your time, I mean," asked Pastor Jim.

"Yeah, I guess." He wasn't sure when he would stop having nightmares, or when he would stop looking over his shoulder every two seconds, though. In a way, once you start, it never truly ends.

"You keep hunting?" said Rufus. Old man was already thinking about retirement, most likely.

Sam looked down and shook his head. He was secretly glad John wasn't there to hear that part. After the actual apocalypse, not hunting was the worst betrayal in his eyes. Just another item crossed off his checklist of disappointments.

Dean hunched forward to grip his knees. Sam could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

Before Hell, Dean's coping mechanism of choice was motherhenning the shit out of his kid brother. Sam, being the independence-seeker he was, usually fought it. Except when there was no other option to help his brother.

Sam fixed his sight on a random point on the wall. As planned, everyone turned to make sure no hallucination materialized behind them, somehow. In a swift movement, he undid the bandage. As Dean's gaze returned to his little brother, Sam pulled a pathetic expression and lifted his injured hand.

The response was immediate. Dean was again focused, in control.

"That means you finally got your Apple-pie normal life?" he said, re-wrapping the bandage.

Sam flinched. He hoped they blamed his wound. Thoughts of Amelia still hurt his heart.

"Sort of," he told the ground. "I live in a cabin and drive around sometimes."

Dean's hand landed on his shoulder. He always knew when Sam hid his sadness.

"You mean all alone?" said Caleb.

Sam shrugged. He did not feel like talking anymore.

"Why not ask for help, hon?" said Ellen. Her eyes were wet and her right hand rested in her chest.

"To who?"

"Uh, to any of us, dummy," smiled Caleb. As if it was the most obvious thing to do.

Sam sighed and lowered his head. He almost heard Caleb's smile fall off. All of them were smart enough to get the message.

"All of us?" said Ellen. Her voice shook, bringing memories of the last time they met.

Sam nodded.

"Even...?"

Sam knew perfectly well who she meant. The currently safe thirteen-year-old Jo, who had no idea her life would be cut short much too early.

Hesitatingly, Sam nodded. He could only imagine what she was feeling. Or any of them for the matter. He still expected at least one of them to call it quits before getting involved. Not that he would blamed them.

There was always plan B: going at it alone.

Bobby clapped his hands and stood up.

"Well, if you ladies are done weeping into your handkerchiefs, I think we have work to do," he said, adjusting his cap.

One by one, they straightened up. Determination burned behind their eyes. Except Dean, who did not need the convincing in the first place. He probably could not conceive the idea of not protecting his brother, even if it was from the Devil himself. The idea entered Sam, that he was taking advantage of his brother's current naivety. Knowing and living through the end of the world was different, after all. 

"We'll need to learn the sigils you mention," said Rufus as he stood up.

"And we better start drawing a plan," said Pastor Jim.

Their confidence boosted up his own. Maybe it would turn out okay this time.

* * *

Sam took two beers out of the fridge around midnight. He couldn't help the mild rush of adrenaline at the thought of being caught. As if he really was an unruly teenager. It did not help he didn't dare taking them while everyone else was still awake.

He knew alcohol was not the best thing for a growing body, but Goddammit if it wasn't a trying day. Weeks. Years, even. He was entitled to a little forget-me juice.

As expected, Dean's silhouette waited up on his couch. He furrowed his eyes at the bottles, but accepted one without a word. Sam sat down at his side. Both sipped in silence under the moonlight that reached them from the window. If he closed his eyes, he could have been stargazing on the Impala's trunk. When was the last time Sam had stopped to look at the stars? Or stopped to do something more than survive?

The atmosphere morphed into uncertainty.

Sam drank a long gulp of beer. The bitterness down his throat prepared his courage to answer Dean's inevitable questions.

"So," said Dean, "who's Adam?"

Of all the questions, that was not one Sam had considered to keep his brother up at night. Nonetheless, honesty was the best policy, as proven numerous occasions. So, Sam promised himself, no more lies between them.

"Our half-brother."

Dean fumbled with his bottle.

"Excuse me, what?" he exclaimed.

Sam nodded. Anger should be rearing its head soon.

"He's dad's eight-year-old son."

The silence turned eerie. The calm before the storm. Dean put his empty bottle forcefully on the coffee table.

"How could he?!" he growled, standing with his fists clenched. "How could he keep something like that from us? How could he-" He cut himself off to focus on pacing.

Sam kept sipping his beer calmly. While Dean deserved to feel whatever the Hell he wanted to feel, Sam could only regret that Adam suffered the consequences of a war that was not his own.

"All this time he kept it from us! Kept what he knew about Yellow Eyes and kept his secret son!," Dean threw his fists in the air, "What the hell?!"

Sam took a deep breath.

"Dean, I know it sucks-"

Dean's head whirled around to glare at him.

"How are you not mad? How-?"

"Because I've had years to come to term with it, okay? And it wasn't like there was someone left to be angry at by the time we found out," interrupted Sam.

Dean sat down and put his head on his hands.

"I just can't believe it," he whispered.

Sam clasped his shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. He was still marveled at how quickly he had single handedly destroyed everything his big brother knew. In less than a week Dean lost his father, their stability, his beliefs, essentially his little brother and his image of their father.

Sam idly wondered if he would ever stop screwing up everybody's lives.

* * *

Sam waited two hours after Dean's first snore to make sure.

He put on his shoes swung his duffel over his shoulder. He refused to cause his brother any more distress.

He listened for creaks or shuffles every three steps. Once out the front door, he ran. It felt good to run away from everything. As if his problems could not catch him. Two minutes of running down the highway with no warm-up or stretching, had his thighs threatening to cramp.

Content in the knowledge that he had a few more hours before anyone noticed his absence, he slowed down.

Handling his problems on his own was what he should have done to begin with. The only reason he had not was his selfishness. He missed his brother, his father, Bobby and his friends too much to resist the temptation of seeing them. So far, he only succeeded in upsetting and burdening them with trouble that was meant for himself, the boy with the demon blood. Too far gone to be saved, in the words of his father.

A passing car parked in front of him.

Sam's senses went haywire. He fished out his pocket knife and waited for the guy to make the first move.

The driver's door opened. A tall figure came out and hurried towards him.

"Sam!" called Dean.

Sam lost his grip on the knife.

"Dean?"

Dean held him by the shoulders, looking him up and down. When he was satisfied there was no damage, he drew Sam in a tight hug.

"What the hell, Sam?" he said, his voice shaking. "What are you doing?"

Sam returned the hug, just in case it was the last one.

"I'm sorry, but this was a mistake," he said. "It's better for everyone if I do this alone, like I should have in the first place."

Dean pushed him at arm's length.

"Bullshit!" he snapped, looking into his eyes. "This isn't about the greater good, Sam. This is you feeling embarrassed and guilty. And guess what, Dad's reaction's not your fault, the hallucinations are not your fault. And even if I believed for a second that the whole apocalypse business was entirely your fault, you're trying to make it right. And I'm sure that if we work together, we can beat this thing's ass."

Sam shook his head.

"Dad's right," he said as he lowered his eyes. "the demon blood in me is-"

"Screw what Dad said! Screw Dad all together! We don't need him, we never have."

Dean tilted Sam's chin up. When their eyes met, Sam could see how much it pained his brother to admit that and how much he meant it.

"Forget about him and all the other dicks out there. We got the Impala, we got you and me, we're gonna be just fine, little brother."

Sam's smile quivered. Some things never changed.

"You and me against the world?" he said.

"Just you and me against the world," confirmed Dean, giving him a quick hug. "Ready to go back to bed, now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to make clear that this story is from Sam's point of view, so while you or I don't see things a certain way doesn't mean Sam doesn't.
> 
> Also, I know that John wasn't supposed to know about his other son until Adam's 12, so shhh ;)

**Author's Note:**

> My first Supernatural fic, let me know what you think :)  
> Chapter 1 edited on January 10th, 2019.


End file.
